NaPoWriMo--DAY THIRTY!

NaPoWriMo PROMPT: Our final (optional) prompt! In some past years, I’ve challenged you to write a poem of farewell for our thirtieth day, but this year, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem about something that returns. For, just as the swallows come back to Capistrano each year, NaPoWriMo will ride again!

But… 

After an unfortunate haircut 

I took solace in realizing 

My hair would return. 

And there is comfort in knowing 

The months of snow will go, 

The days of will rain end, 

The mud will dry, 

The screeching birds 

Outside my window 

When I want to sleep 

Will finally take a break. 

But 

What if, like my Barbie’s hair, 

They didn’t come back?

NaPoWriMo--DAY TWENTY NINE

NaPoWriMo PROMPT: Write a paean to the stalwart hero of your household: your pet. Sing high your praises and tell the tale of Kitty McFluffleface’s ascension of Mt. Couch. Let us hear how your intrepid doggo bravely answers the call to adventure whenever the leash jingles.

Bingo

  

Bingo the black and white collie 

Could smile with a grin that was jolly. 

When there wasn’t a herd 

He’d round up the birds. 

When they flew off he’d laugh at his folly. 

NaPoWriMo--DAY TWENTY EIGHT

NaPoWriMo PROMPT: Today’s (optional) prompt is brought to us by the Emily Dickinson Museum. First, read this brief reminiscence:  Martha Dickinson Bianchi’s description of her aunt Emily’s cozy room, scented with hyacinths and a crackling stove, warmly recalls the setting decades later. Describe a bedroom from your past in a series of descriptive paragraphs or a poem. 

The Best Bedroom Ever

A tent on a sandy beach 

Of the Salmon River. 

Resting on cots. 

No need for covers. 

Night so warm, 

Rain fly is open. 

Screen keeps out bugs 

But lets in the stars. 

A breath of sage 

And evergreen 

Floats on the dark. 

Far from all sound 

But the grumble 

Of rolling water. 

A vision of the day 

Still sighs through the mind. 

NaPoWriMo--DAY TWENTY SEVEN

NaPoWriMo PROMPT: Write a poem in the form of a review. But not a review of a book or a movie of a restaurant. Instead, I challenge you to write a poetic review of something that isn’t normally reviewed. For example, your mother-in-law, the moon, or the year 2020.

Aunt Ellen’s Carrot Cake 

She used carrots fresh from the garden. 

She would have scorned baby carrots. 

Aunt Ellen was my husband’s mother’s half-sister. 

She was an experienced cook from Blanding, Utah. 

Her Carrot Cake Recipe is a treasure. 

The simplicity of preparation, 

And the familiar ingredients, 

Put the creation of this fine dessert 

Within reach of even the inexperienced. 

Don’t reject the simple storyline

And the stained 3x5 card. 

The writing gets to the point without rambling. 

The addition of raisins and walnuts 

Was not an unexpected plot twist. 

In fact, they were necessary for the final result. 

Aunt Ellen’s Carrot cake will not disappoint. 

Five Stars. 

Spoiler Alert—The Actual Recipe copied from her own stained 3x5 card follows: 

AUNT ELLEN’S CARROT CAKE 

In a large mixing bowl cream together: 

1 ½ cups shortening (part can be soft butter) 

2 cups white or brown sugar 

Add: 

4 eggs, one at a time 

Peel and grate enough carrots to yield 3 cups 

Add and mix well. 

Sift together and add: 

2 ¼ cups all-purpose flour 

1 ½ teaspoons baking soda 

2 teaspoons cinnamon. 

Stir in: 

1 cup chopped walnuts 

1 cup raisins 

Pour the batter into a greased and floured 13x9 baking pan 

Bake 45 minutes to 1 hour at 350 degrees (Fahrenheit) 

Note: A cream cheese frosting is traditional but this cake is so rich and moist, it is not necessary.

NaPoWriMo--DAY TWENTY SIX

NaPoWriMo PROMPT: For this prompt, you will need to fill out, in five minutes or less, the following “Almanac Questionnaire.” Then, use your responses as to basis for a poem.

The Wendigo

Whiteout

Snowing. No, a blizzard 

Five days of blizzard. 

Earl has been gone for three. 

Went off through the evergreens 

Leaving me in this reeking cabin 

With a barrel of pinto beans, 

A hind quarter of frozen moose, 

A bag of dog food, 

And two sled dogs. 

My dreams of 

Being eaten alive by wolves 

Have returned. 

Seeing those huge tracks 

By the junk cars in town 

Didn’t help. 

I’m supposed to be 

Guarding our stash of beaver pelts. 

What a joke. 

The newspaper left by 

Crazy Harlan 

Was full of conspiracies 

About poison snow. 

And an escaped llama 

That shut down the Juneau Airport. 

After he took off for Fairbanks 

I saw he’d written “I wish I was Banksy” 

On our barn wall. 

Maybe he will send me a letter. 

"The weather is fine in Cancun." 

I’ll send him a postcard of a moose. 

So I sit here dressed in layers 

Of wool sweaters and fleece 

Listening to the howling wind 

Or howling wolves 

I can’t tell. 

It’s grim. 

I cheer myself up by remembering 

Playing in the river 

When I was a kid. 

Then I think about 

The Kraken. 

And then The Wendigo, 

The cannibal monster 

That lives in the north woods. 

And what if this whole world 

Is really just a snow globe. 

And the sky is a glass dome 

And someone is getting ready 

To drop and break it?